The Maloneys' Magical Weatherbox (8 page)

“Is he OK? Is he OK? Is he OK?” Owen cried as he ran up, reaching for Neetch, and I gave him over as gently as I could, then pushed them behind me and kept backing toward the house. Mum, Dad, and Neil rushed out and stopped beside me. Mum put her hand on my shoulder, and Dad stepped toward Mrs. Fitzgerald and Hugh. His face was flushed and red and his teeth were bared and he was breathing in through his mouth and I could see his chest rise and fall. I had never seen Dad so angry.

“You have committed more crimes today than I can count. You have broken rules and violated agreements laid down so long ago there was barely language to express them. You will pay us back for everything your son has damaged or destroyed and if I see him near my children or near my house ever again as long as he lives, I will make sure he regrets it. You will answer for your grotesque and insane interference with the weather and the Seasons and with me! Now, get out of here, get off my lawn and off my road and do not come back.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at Dad as if she'd never seen him before, as if she were noticing him for the first time. She tilted her head slightly to one side. I thought I could see tiny lights flickering in the backs of her shadowy eyes, way, way down, like bombs going off in a faraway place.

Neil ran across the lawn toward the gate. Hugh made to block him, but his mother touched his arm and he stopped with a groan of pain.
Good,
I thought. Fitzy shook his shotgun, but didn't point it, and Neil jumped over the wall and stood beside the phone box and looked back.

“Dad!” he said. “Come on!”

The sun was coming up. The sun was coming up way over in the east, down at the end of the road, bright and rosy. Dew had fallen and everything was wet and shining. My feet were bare and numb, and I shivered with the cold and with the knowing. The light reached the Weatherbox. We held our breaths, and waited. The phone did not ring.

“DAD!” yelled Neil.

“Is something wrong?” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. Dad glared.

“Get away from here, I said!” Dad was yelling now. “Go on!”

“Or what? What could you do to me? Where are your vassals and retainers, oh King of the Four Quarters? Where are your wise men of power and your warriors bold? Hollow King of an Empty Quarter, I name you. I scorned worse than you from the pillows of my crib, and that was long, long ago, when there was real power in the world.”

Ed Wharton loomed up beside me, like a friendly rolling boulder. The sun was halfway clear of the horizon now. Neil was staring down the road at it, his hand held before his face to shield his eyes.

“I think you'd better leave,” Ed rumbled. “You're not welcome here. You've done enough damage.”

“But I haven't finished,” she said. “I have come here to issue a challenge to the Weatherman. I challenge you, Weatherman. I say you are unfit for your task. I say you have failed in your duties as your father failed before you. I challenge you, Weatherman. I say you are incompetent and careless and irresponsible, as your father was before you. I say the Seasons are not safe in your hands. I say it is time you were deposed and another put in your place. Someone fit for the task. I challenge you, Weatherman.
I have said it three times.
You will be cast off, and I will take your place.”

Dad stared, still breathing hard. Ed Wharton was holding him back; otherwise I think he might have run at her.

“You can't challenge me. You can't cast me off. You can't take my place. It can't be done.”

“Can't it? The Weatherman has been cast off and replaced before.”

“Once,” Dad said. “But that was—”

“Listen,” she said, tilting her head to one side. “The morning sun has grown full and bright. Where is the bell? Why does nothing ring? Where is the Autumn, Weatherman? Look to your task. You are failing.”

Ed Wharton's eyes grew wide, and his hands dropped from Dad's arm.

“You, you can't,” Dad stammered. “Nobody could…” Dad took a step toward her, his hand in a fist. “What have you done? Dear God, what the hell have you done?”

“What have
you
done, Weatherman? Why does the Summer linger? If the Weatherman does not know, then who does? Who does the Weatherman answer to? How long do you think it will take before they grow tired of your failure? A day? Two? They will grow restless and angry, Weatherman, and then they will come, and you will answer for yourself. They will find you wanting, and I will be there to take your place.”

And then Dad grew, and changed, and for a moment he wasn't Dad but something huge and green and earthy and alive. Mrs. Fitzgerald's face was eager.

“That's it, Weatherman. Unleash your power. Set the seal on your failure. Only a coward and a weakling would stand before a mortal enemy who would take from him everything he possessed, strip him to the bone of all he loved and leave that enemy alive and whole to do their worst when he has the means to scour her from the earth.”

Dad was doing that one thing a Weatherman is utterly forbidden from doing. He was becoming Summer right before our very eyes. I could feel the heat radiating off him. He was going to roast her to a crisp and scatter her ashes with a south wind and when he was done the Seasons would come and throw him off the planet.

“That's enough.”

Mum suddenly stood between Dad and Mrs. Fitzgerald, and the heat faded and Dad was Dad again, small and human and struggling for control.

“I know you,” Mum said. She was a head shorter than either Dad or Mrs. Fitzgerald and wearing a worn dressing gown and fluffy slippers, but her voice was level and cool.

“I know your sort and I know your make and I know your mark. By the cow in the barn and the goat in the pen and the oak in the grove, I say you, be away before the sun rises no more than the length of my fingernail or the black waters can have you and the rushes fill your hair.”

Without another word, Mrs. Fitzgerald swept away to the gate, dragging Hugh with her, and she and her husband and her son crossed the road and vanished into the trees. We rushed to the phone box. Neil was still staring at the sun. Dad had both hands in his hair. Owen cradled Neetch. Mum looked like thunder, and Ed Wharton just looked sad and bewildered and scared.

I put my head back and screamed my rage at the sky.

A phone rang, but it was the phone in the house. No one moved to go in and answer it. It stopped, and then started ringing again.

The Weatherbox was silent.

 

PART 2

The Maloneys and the Hags of the Black Pool

 

CHAPTER 11

NEIL

It was an hour later and Liz was still making a flipping eejit out of herself.

“Twiggy man, bring the cold. Twiggy man, bring the cold.”

“God, Liz, shut UP!”

She ignored me and kept dancing and chanting.

“Twiggy man, bring the cold! Twiggy man, bring the cold!”

At least she wasn't screaming at the sky anymore.

Mum and Dad were sitting side by side on the wall, heads close together, talking in low voices. Now that Mum had Dad calmed down a bit, I could barely hear what they were saying, even though I was sitting beside Dad. Ed sat beside Mum. Owen had taken poor hurt Neetch inside to put cream on his sore bits. And Liz kept embarrassing us all with her stupid antics. On today of all days—the most horrible day ever.

Can you imagine? Can you understand how huge this was? It was as if the world had stopped turning. If you stop a car suddenly and you're not wearing your seat belt you get thrown through the windshield. I looked up and wondered if we were all going to get thrown through the sky and off the planet. People, animals, trees, cities, mountains, seas, all pitched into space because Mrs. Fitzgerald had put her foot on the brake.

And yet nothing happened. Nothing changed. Today was the same as yesterday. Of course it was. Yesterday was Summer, and so was today. But that was the problem. Things can't stay the same in this world. Things change or things die. Things come to an end.

Mum was disagreeing with Dad about something. Dad was shaking his head and saying he had no choice. His hair was a mess and his eyes moved around like they were trying to see everything at once, or avoid seeing it. He looked wild.

“I have to stay,” he said, getting loud again. “I have to stay here. It's stupid, but there's nothing else I can do. If I leave, it's … dereliction. I would be deserting my post. If I do that, I won't deserve to be Weatherman.”

I thought of derelict houses with crumbling walls and broken windows all covered in ivy, and I thought of the Weatherbox with all its glass shattered and the wood rotten and eaten and the phone pulled off and the door hanging open. I filled up with panic and fear and a kind of hurt that made me want to scream out how horrible and unfair this was.

“Then I'll go,” Mum said. “I'll do it.”

“I wish you could. But if it can't be me, then it has to be Neil in my place, speaking with my voice.”

“What?” I said. “Me? What?”

“Then I'll take him!” Mum said, louder. “I'll go with him!”

“No! I'm sorry, but just look at what's happened! The danger is here! Mrs. Fitzgerald is incredibly dangerous. I can't even conceive of how she managed to stop the Seasons. And she tried to take Liz! Hugh has completely wrecked the house—it's a miracle nobody was hurt. No. Owen and Liz need us both, here, protecting them. Besides, Neil won't be going alone.”

“Going where?” I asked.

Dad looked at Mum, and then looked at me.

“You're going to find the Shieldsmen,” he said.

“I am?”

“You are.”

“He is?” Liz said. At last she stopped chanting and dancing. Her face was pale. “No,” she said. “Not that. That's mine.
I'm
the Shieldsman.
He's
the Weatherman. He can't have both!”

“Liz,” Dad said. “Listen—”

“That's not right! That's not fair! I'll go! I'll find them! I'll bring them back! I will!”

“No, Liz, you can't,” Dad said. “They answer only to the Weatherman. Or his heir.”

“Him, you mean,” she said, pointing at me. “Him. Not me.”

“Liz—” I began.

“Shut up,” she said, jumped the wall, and ran back to the house.

“Well,” Mum said, “that's done it.”

“What's wrong with her?” I asked. “What did I do?”

“You were born first,” Mum said. “You were born a boy. And the chain of succession for the Weathermen was established by a bunch of Stone Age men.”

I swallowed and nodded. Today was a day for ruining things. Today was a day for everything to be spoiled and wrecked and made horrible.

“Now, your Dad and I are asking Mr. Wharton to drive
you
to Dublin, instead of your Dad. That's a big responsibility, so he might say no. If he says yes, then you will go to the Weathermen's Club—we have a key if there's no one there to let you in. Look around and see if you can find a clue or a way to contact the Shieldsmen.”

“There's not much chance,” Dad said. “There's probably nothing there, so you need only be away for a few hours. If you find anything, call me. If it looks like there's a real chance of finding them, then I'll go to them and bring them back myself.”

“Is that OK with you, Mr. Wharton?” Mum asked.

Mr. Wharton shifted, rocking slightly from side to side on the wall.

“Sure. It'll be fun.”

“But Dad,” I said, “what are you going to do about the Autumn? What are you going to do about
her
?”

Dad winced.

“I don't know, Neil. I'll sit here and wait for the phone to ring—nobody else can answer it. I need to find out why it's not ringing. My God! How do you block a Season? You don't! I need to work out what she's done. And then, to take action, I'll need reinforcements. I'll need the club and I'll need the Shieldsmen and I don't think we have much time.”

“Right,” Mum said. “You'd better get going then. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back. Oh God, is that the house phone again?”

We went inside, stepping carefully around broken glass and crockery. The phone had stopped ringing again by the time we got there. Mum stood in the living room, surveyed the damage, and lit a cigarette. Dad touched her elbow, then stole her cigarette and took a quick puff. Liz glared at everybody and kicked something broken across the floor, breaking it some more.

I went upstairs and got dressed, and then they all walked us down to the old barn where Ed had parked his truck and waved us off without much ceremony. Mum gave me a squeeze, Dad clapped me on the shoulder, Liz gave me a long hard stare, and Owen was too preoccupied with Neetch to do anything other than give me a wide-eyed look from between a pair of twitching, furry, triangular cat ears.

Mum turned to Ed. “You keep him safe and sound, you understand? Back by dinner. No sightseeing. No trouble.”

Dad shook Ed's hand.

“What she said,” he said.

Ed grinned. “All aboard!” he yelled, and climbed nimbly up through the door.

The cab of Ed's truck was clean and tidy and smelled of air freshener and leather furniture polish. There was no rubbish or dust on the dashboard, no tacky souvenirs or rude pictures or stickers with hilarious jokes. It was spotless.

Ed put both hands on the wheel and looked at the road with wistful eyes.

Then he roared, and the engine roared with him, and we left home and made our way out into the world.

 

CHAPTER 12

LIZ

Neil went off with Ed in Ed's big truck to have adventures and do cool things while we stayed behind to work and work and work. I was mad, but I was sorry I'd said what I'd said. Those things were my secret and saying them out loud only hurt everyone and showed what a silly little girl I was. I tried to be a little more like normal, even though nothing would be normal ever again. I tried to give Mum and Dad a way to think that everything was OK.